


Long Way Home

by tipsybluetips



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Porn with a strip of plot, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tipsybluetips/pseuds/tipsybluetips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan isn't satisfied with the way Scott runs the team - it's a leader's duty to try and bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a request from my dear freind Bia Café. This is unbeta'ed - however painstakingly I have read it over and over, I'd still love you if you pointed out any mistakes I may have left behind. Hope you enjoy it~

The cab leaves Scott in front of a bar that is little more than a warehouse, a little lost in the woods and past a gravel stone parking lot where he spies his missing Mercedes convertible. For a second he considers just taking the spare set of keys in his pocket and letting this mess die the quietest and worst way possible, no goodbyes and see you never after, but he knows he hasn’t come this far to settle for less. The wind has a bite of frost to it and Scott should by all rights be at home, enjoying the fireplace burning in the Institute - he opens the door to the bar because he knows home is far more a concept than a location.

Scott is the first person in a polo shirt and khaki pants to ever set foot there. The place is decked with a long counter, chipped stools, pool tables and a badly-tuned TV that airs some local football match as background noise. Scott’s red-filtered sight doesn’t go well with the crappy lighting scheme, but he doesn’t need to look much to find his mark - for someone who preaches his own freedom and unattachment as often as Logan, the man can be awfully predictable.

“The heck yer doing here, fancypants?” Logan smelled him before he even stepped into the bar, of course, which means the diplomatic road isn’t as blocked as his low growl of a voice may imply. Rather than having to deal with claws on his face first thing, Scott quietly takes the stool beside Wolverine and signals the bartender for a beer. The drink he takes is long, chilling him all over again from inside out, and he feels Logan staring at his working throat as if he were prey.

Scott should wonder when he stopped minding it and started caring instead. “I know you don’t give me much credit overall but believe me, I can follow the GPS tracking of my own car.” Logan’s scowl deepens further, therefore Scott has to hide a smile in his mug. “And I don’t have money for the taxi back, so you’d better be ready for the ride back soon.”

“Don’tcha have a corporate card for the Institute somewhere? At least at blowing old Chuck’s money you may do,” Logan spites, fingers curling and uncurling in a prelude to adamantium and terrible conflict-solving. He throws a twenty at the counter and Scott is breathing deep, ready to do more difficult dignity adjustments in the name of the team to find the powers to run after Wolverine like a rejected bride at the altar - but Logan doesn’t leave the bar. He takes a cue from the racks on the wall and breaks a shot at an empty pool table.

Scott knows an invitation when he sees one. He finishes his beer slowly, trusts his drink will be covered by Logan’s bill, and approaches the table. “Nothing has to change, Logan. It’s changed too much already,” he sighs as he retrieves his cue and inspects his chances. As always, Logan hasn’t made his life any easier.

“There ain’t no Professor, there ain’t no Jean, but there’s you and yer bloody asinine way to lead the team,” Logan sinks an easy ball, but has no follow-up move. This isn’t the game he’s paying attention to. “Yer right - it’s changed too much and I don’t want no place in it.”

“You may think I’m a shitty leader but I know some of those kids need things I just can’t do,” Scott sits on the corner of the table and slides across the greasy wood as he sinks three shots in a row. “It’s my duty to keep someone who can, so I’m making space for you.”

Logan snorts, taking another terrible shot. “Very generous of you, giving me what’s already mine. I’m not in the mood to fight, Cyke. Get lost.”

“No,” Scott shrugs, then takes the cue ball in his hand and stuffs it into one of the pockets. He proceeds to grab Logan by his lapels and pull him to his eye level. “I’m not getting lost and neither are you, and I don’t care whether you want any of this or not, ‘cause we’re either going outside to take the car back home, or so I can blast your stupid ass six ways into Sunday and take you home all the same.”

He’s lost everything - his bride, his mentor, his stability. Suddenly his home and safe ground became his responsibility, his burden, his commanded troops. Scott Summers is a hard-headed prick and he’s well aware of it, and maybe the X-Men and the Institute would be better off with a different leader, but for all of the criticism exploding on his face he’s the only one sticking his neck out on that particular role. The first mission that goes wrong - a possible new recruit running scared off to Magneto’s wing in a bloody mess, and perhaps Scott could have been more understanding, more gentle, more loose around the edges but fuck him, he can’t read minds and he’s lost everyone who could - and Logan swears off the team.

Scott considered just letting the beast run away, but he knows he’d be an even worse leader to let the beating heart of the team go now that he has to be the brain.

Beer-laced breath hits Scott’s face as Logan smiles a predator grin. “We’re taking this outside, alright,” his tone is a warning, and Scott is so damn eager to jump right across that contention tape he’s the one who releases Logan’s shirt and takes off to the door. He doesn’t need to look back to know the shorter man is right on his wake as they step into the chilly night again.

If there’s one thing to be said for Logan’s skills is the brutal effectiveness of his speed. They’re not two steps into the gravel patch and Wolverine has him by the arm, dragging Scott to the side of the bar that faces the forest. He can fight back, sure, but the same voice of sensibility that has convinced Scott to manhunt Logan all the way back from his hiding spot tells him to let himself be pressed against that wall with both arms pinned and Logan’s leg anchored between his own.

A good leader knows when to delegate control, not only for his agents’ sakes but for his own. Scott wants to give Logan more to hold onto, more to have power over, more to care about - Scott let Logan kill the woman he had once loved, but perhaps that trust and that respect are not enough. Perhaps he needs to let Logan mark the territory he’s asking him to defend. Perhaps they’re both so damn lonely that desperation is rearing its most ridiculing head in the sincere smile Scott opens at being crushed to Logan’s will against a wall. “Wanna show me who’s the alpha male in this pack, Logan? Really?”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Cyke,” Logan growls, fists squeezing Scott’s wrists to certain bruises come the morning, nose and forehead pressing against his. “You don’t tell me what I want, and you sure as hell don’t tell me where my home is.”

“I don’t need to,” Scott is either insane or suicidal to grind his crotch on Logan’s thigh the way he does, and he loves that status dearly. It does rather enthralling things to Logan, if the way he can see his pupils blowing open even through red shades is any telling. “Not when you show it so nicely.”

It’s not a kiss as much as it is an attack, a second of mashed lips before Logan’s tongue is claiming his whole mouth, sliding wet aggression to his mouth roof and the root of his tongue and his teeth and his gums. His teeth scrape Scott’s lips and tongue and he wants nothing different. The scent of Logan’s leathers and sweat convince him to look for more, to grind harder, to press against a body of muscle and metal and raw instinct.

They’re alone, so utterly and irreversibly alone, and this will not bring them together - it won’t fill in the bloodstained blanks, it won’t cure any wounds and it won’t solve any issues - but it’s the closest they can stand so Scott will take what he can get. He sucks proximity to Logan’s neck and bites familiarity to his tendons - Logan crushes him to the wall until it hurts just like loss and longing. Scott is glad to be between Wolverine and this pain. He is the leader and he can turn suffering into struggle; struggle into success.

Logan releases one of his arms to shove a rough hand under Scott’s shirt, callused fingers gripping hard at his waist, squeezing a path to his back. Scott just uses the free hand to hold his hair and kiss him again, harder and more breathless, all stubble burn and building ties until Logan releases the other arm as well.

“Just don’t fucking leave,” Scott gasps as he wraps both arms over the bulk of Logan’s shoulders. The other man growls once again, pushing his pants down to his knees and squeezing him. Scott is so hard his vision blurs at the first touch, tearing at Logan’s hair.

“Gimme a good reason to stay,” but he already has and they both know it.

Scott chuckles between his moans as Logan jerks him off, relief and wonder blending with pleasure to make the task of unbuttoning his shirt and jeans all that much harder. Eventually he gets a handful of chest and abdomen muscle, dragging rough caresses while his right hand closes around Logan’s cock. They move together, breathing hard and smearing kisses that taste like victory to each other’s jaws.

They should be freezing but all that Scott feels is a frenzied drive forward, burning tight down his stomach, coiling around his spine. He is fever-dizzy among a rising sense of accomplishment and a reassuring notion of security. There’s a pull for more that scorches up his chest and pulls a vacuum in his mouth, so he needs to fill it by sucking quickly-fading bruises to Logan’s neck, and chest, and navel, and before he knows it Scott has sunk to his knees on the gravel and has slipped most of Logan’s cock down his throat.

Logan curses under his breath, a deep rumble that Scott feels in his bones and makes him suck to his most earnest. He doesn’t mind the imperative hand that bunches on his hair - he has Logan on his mouth, leaking want on his tongue, totally at his mercy for pain or pleasure equally. Scott is on his knees and he’s in full control to the man standing tall before him, and he has fun licking certainty of that fact down every vein his tongue can trace.

Logan always cries his freedom to the four winds - and Scott has successfully reminded him his free ways will always bring him back to what really matters.

Scott jerks himself off almost lazily while he slides Logan’s length in and out of his mouth, free hand playing with the man’s balls. His own orgasm is almost an afterthought, semen spilling on the rocky pavement in long ribbons as Scott pants with his lips pressed to the side of Logan’s cock. As soon as the strongest shocks die down he fills his mouth again, making a point out of memorizing the way Logan opens his mouth and furrows his brow and tries so hard not to let himself go but he can’t hold it, not now nor ever, not for anything that actually counts and Scott loves to witness him having to open up or break.

With a punch to the wall and a short, ragged scream Logan comes. Scott swallows what he can, lets the excess trickle down his bottom lip then wipes it with the back of his hand as he finally lets Logan slide fully out of his mouth. He stands up and slots himself perfectly back to the space between Logan and the wall, letting his hands delve into Logan’s back pockets.

“This doesn’t change a thing,” Logan smirks a few seconds later, “You’re a shitty head, even if you give great head.”

Scott lets one eyebrow show over his shades, “As I mentioned before, I don’t want any changes,” he moves slowly away, taking a step aside to pull his pants up and make sure his mouth is clean before heading toward the car. “None at fucking all, so hurry up to the car because Ororo has been taking care of the kids by herself far too long tonight.”

“I still got the keys, pretty boy.”

“No, you don’t,” Scott smiles, spinning his rightful possession retrieved from Logan’s pocket on his index finger. “It’s a long taxi ride all the way out here, just so you know.”

Logan growls and Scott smiles. He’s looking forward to fighting over radio stations on the way back home.


End file.
